


Timeless

by CrowsQuill



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, Immortality, Internal Conflict, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Character, Rebirth, Slow Burn, no beta we die like men, the yi/yasuo is not the focus and for early plot only
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28318404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowsQuill/pseuds/CrowsQuill
Summary: When Yasuo wakes up at the foot of a twisted white tree, years after his death, he doesn't know what went wrong. As someone who never believed in an afterlife or second chances, it's ironic that he of all people would get one. But as time passes, he realizes that his constant reincarnation through many more lives and many more decades may be more of a lonely curse than anything else.Meanwhile, an artist who hides the fact that his hair never grays and his eyes never dull behind a mask becomes fascinated with the one thing that always alludes him: death. Hopelessly immortal and isolated through the passage of time, Jhin becomes drawn to the beauty in death and shares his love of the one thing he cannot achieve to those around him.As centuries pass and everything else withers away, the two find themselves drawn to the only other being on the planet who can understand them- although recognizing a face decades after they should've died never creates a friendly atmosphere. At least, not at first...
Relationships: Khada Jhin/Yasuo, Yasuo/Master Yi (League of Legends)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	Timeless

The first time Yasuo died, it was terrifying. A sudden, intense flash of excruciating pain and visceral fear, and then freezing darkness. The darkness was cold, oily, and it forced its way down his throat, suffocating him within the grasp of a void. He had never believed in an afterlife, so as he struggled to cough, to move, to see  _ anything,  _ he wondered if this was it- if this was the fate he had sealed his brother to by his own hand, and the fate he himself would poetically suffer. 

But no, this miserable experience wasn’t the end- no, someone like him deserved far, far worse. The afterlife wasn’t real, and neither was time in this churning, wretched expanse of darkness. After what could’ve been seconds, hours, millennia- Yasuo was yanked down further, out of the prison of slippery darkness, and down to the foot of a white, twisted tree. 

Being reborn was more painful than being dead. The light was aggressive, tearing through his eyelids and ripping bloodshot veins into the whites of his eyes even when he squeezed them shut. The ground was  _ too  _ solid,  _ too  _ stable, and it disoriented him badly. The air was too sharp, too clear, and felt like inhaling shards of glass. 

He wasn’t sure how long he spent coughing, curled into a tight ball with his hands yanking on his overgrown dark brown hair at the roots of the tree. But did it matter? Yasuo had lost his belief in time, in reality itself, so it had no impact on him when he saw the rising sun cut above the treeline, signaling the start of a new day. 

When his body finally adjusted to being on a physical plain, he took in his surroundings. He was lying at the foot of a massive white tree, one with gnarled roots and blood-red sap dripping from any puncture ripping through its pure white bark. A layer of frost covered the dying plants throughout the forest, and as he looked around, he recognized  _ Ionian  _ trees. He hadn’t been back to Ionia since he had slain his brother, and he doubted he would ever be welcome back. But, here he was now, perhaps dozens of miles from civilization. 

Looking down at himself, he realized with a jolt that he was  _ younger.  _ He wasn’t a child, but his hands were no longer weathered with work and stress as they had been when he died. He was shorter, too, closer to the height he had been a few years after he had bested Yone. Nausea made its presence known in the pit of Yasuo’s stomach, and he shuddered. Was this a twisted dream of sorts? Had he been drugged? 

As he used the trunk of the pure white tree to pull himself up, a jolt of what could almost be considered joy raced through him as he identified the object that had been lying next to him on the frosted terrain. His katana was there with him, always by his side- even in death, as it seemed. 

“ _ Fuck,”  _ he murmured to himself, kneeling down next to it on unsteady legs. He drew his sword out of the  _ saya,  _ inspecting it in the cold morning light. The sickening feeling returned as he noticed a tinge of red coating the blade, but not the typical bloodrust Yasuo had learned to anticipate on each of his weapons. He ran his finger across the surface and realized it was sap, the very same liquid that seeped from the pale bark he stood next to. 

Yasuo made a repulsed noise, shoving the blade roughly back into its casing. He would deal with it later, as the very real sensation of cold and hunger was starting to seep back into his body. It was no use being reborn only to die in perhaps a more pathetic way only hours later. There was no guarantee of civilization for miles, but since it was Ionia, there was likely a woodland village scattered around somewhere. 

He wandered aimlessly for miles. He walked, murmuring the things he could remember about his past life and life in general, switching from the common tongue to the Ionian language he so treasured. He walked until the giant pale branches were lost in the distance, and until the early morning rays fell victim to the glimmer of twilight. He continued to walk, even as the pain of hunger rose up within him and the bitter grasp of an approaching winter wind sunk its teeth into any areas of exposed flesh. The typical Ionian robes he woke up in were thin, and did little to defend himself from the predatory winter air. 

He continued to walk, even as his trot turned into a stumble, and as twilight darkened into nightfall. He continued to walk, even as the unpleasant bite of cold turned into an excruciating pain around his darkening fingertips. 

Finally, when the cry of  **_“Traveller, halt!”_ ** in Ionian cut through the air, did Yasuo stop walking. He turned towards the source of the call and found a tall swordsman patrolling out towards him. The well-groomed man fixed him with a serious but questioning purple gaze.  **“What brings you out into these woods alone, at night?”**

Yasuo froze, simultaneously trying to remember how to speak his mother tongue and come up with a good excuse at the same time. He wasn’t sure how long it had been, and what explanations would seem legitimate to an Ionian who had grown up during whatever time period he was currently residing in.  **“I ran into some Noxians. They took all I had- I was lucky to get out alive.”**

The dark-haired swordsman’s gaze softened immediately at the sound of the traditional Ionian language, especially when sharing in what was likely a shared struggle between the two of them.  **“I understand. I am patrolling my home village, will you allow me to bring you back? I fear what may happen to you if you choose to remain out in this bitter weather.”**

Yasuo nodded wordlessly, relief at both finding a place to stay and the fact that if Noxians were still an issue, then not much time had passed. 

They trudged through the woods, snow beginning to fall which only worsened the numbness creeping up from the edge of his fingers. He had so many questions he wanted to ask the man now escorting him back to his village, but he didn’t remember quite how to phrase it into Ionian. Even in his past life, his mother tongue had begun to desert him after so many years of neglect. “Do you speak the common tongue?” He tried, breaking the silence between them. 

The swordsman slid a purple gaze down towards Yasuo. “Yes, but I find it to be useless and inelegant. You can say the exact same thing in Ionian, except a thousand times more elegant.” He paused, switching back to Ionian to further his point.  **“Language carries power. I simply chose to respect the air, those who hear me, and myself by speaking in a worthy one.”**

**“Makes sense,”** Yasuo said simply, swallowing nervously. As they lapsed back into a comfortable silence, he found himself stealing glances over at the polite man, letting his mind wander. As he spoke to him, he found that his Ionian had a weird dialect that he had never heard before. He had traveled to many Ionian cities in his life- or was it now lives? However, the dialect was unlike anything he was familiar with. 

Yasuo couldn’t exactly ask where they were without getting a very weird look and a handful of unanswerable questions, so he decided to keep quiet. However, after a few more minutes of walking, it was the man leading him that decided to break the silence himself.  **“Can I ask a name, Traveller?”**

Yasuo smirked over at him.  **“If there is much power within language, there is more of it within a name.”**

The swordsman smiled back at him.  **“Very well- a name for a name, then?”**

Yasuo paused for a moment, considering. It was likely wise to give out a fake name, especially when in Ionia. His name had been associated with murder and betrayal for most of his life, and he had been driven far, far away from his homeland. However, this wasn’t an area or dialect he recognized, despite being Ionian. In addition, he didn’t feel good about lying to the man who had so kindly decided to take him in, especially when he could’ve left him to die. Perhaps it would be safe to tell the truth here, despite what his gut was telling him.  **“Yasuo. My name is Yasuo.”**

The dark-haired man tilted his head towards him.  **“Pretty name. My name is Yi.”**

Yasuo had to smother a sigh of relief when the swordsman hadn’t immediately pulled his blade out and called him a traitor at the sound of his name. It had been quite a long time since anyone had described his name as “pretty.” 

**“I will assume you mean that as a compliment rather than a subversive insult,”** Yasuo said, feeling his spirits inexplicably rise despite the cold and confusing events of the past day. 

Yi let out a laugh. A genuine one at that, one that raised his spirits even further.  **“Definitely a compliment- I don’t insult those I’m not sure I could beat in a fight.”** He gestured over at the katana strapped to Yasuo’s side. 

**“Ah, so it** **_was_ ** **an insult then?”**

Yi smiled again and slowed his pace.  **“We’re here. Follow my lead, and be respectful.”**

Yasuo nodded silently, a flash of disappointment striking through his heart as their light conversation drew to a close. He followed Yi a few steps behind, rather than walking by his side as they made their way to a collection of wooden houses. There were a few people milling about in thick furs, dragging collections of chopped wood into houses or on top of a scattering of campfires. Yi nodded to a few residents as they passed them, but otherwise remained expressionless as he made his way to the largest center structure. 

Yi tapped the door a few times to make his presence known and then nodded over at Yasuo as he pushed his way inside of the building. The wave of heat from an inside fireplace washed over Yasuo, and he thought he would faint then and there. It was at the point where he thought he would lose feeling in his hands entirely, and he may have, had he stayed out in the cold any longer. 

The man inside the building sat towards the fire, looking towards an open book and away from the two that had entered his home. 

Yi cleared his throat.  **“Master, I found someone on patrol. They were attacked by Noxians and would have died had they stayed out any longer.”**

At that, the older man Yi had addressed with the traditional title of “master,” put his book down on the table roughly, glancing over at him with a flicker of annoyance.  **_“Another_ ** **stowaway, Yi? This village can barely handle feeding its people, and you bring in another?”**

Yi shifted his weight from foot to foot awkwardly, staying silent. 

The older man huffed with exasperation, glancing over at Yasuo and sizing him up.  **“At least it’s not a child this time. He looks old enough to drink- old enough to drink, old enough to work.”**

Yi looked glanced over at Yasuo, then back to the Master.  **“We could always use the extra hands.”**

The Master sighed, shaking his head.  **“Fine, fine. He will be** **_your_ ** **responsibility though, I took your fall last time and now it is your turn. Perhaps it will defer you from bringing more hungry mouths in.”**

Yasuo’s heart sank. Out of all things to be, a burden was perhaps one of the worst. He especially didn’t want to be one for the man who had very likely saved his life. 

Yi remained entirely expressionless.  **“Very well.”**

After a moment’s silence, the Master waved his hand dismissively, turning back to his book.  **“You have much to learn before you hold my title, Yi.”**

With that, Yi silently turned, beckoning Yasuo to follow. When they left the warmth of his cabin, he broke the silence immediately.  **“Don’t mind him, Yasuo. He is kinder than he comes across as.”** He paused for a moment, looking over at him.  **“Living here is not easy, especially in light of… recent events, as you know.”**

Yasuo nodded, certainly not knowing what Yi was referring to. 

**“But, since I doubt I would be wrong in assuming that you have little to fall back on, you have a place with us. You are strong and capable of working. I will start you off, but you must give back to the village as a whole.”**

**“I can do that. You saved my life, Yi, and you have my respect in return.”**

Yi nodded, satisfied.  **“You can live with me for now. We’ll find you a more permanent residence soon.”**

Yasuo tried to ignore how his heart skipped at the thought of living with the kind swordsman, chalking it up to simply gratitude. He followed him to a smaller log cabin, one that also carried the warmth of a dying fireplace. As Yasuo stood still awkwardly, Yi walked over to stoke the flames to a roaring level. 

**“Right, I’ll find thicker clothing for you to change into.”** Yi stood up with a purpose, intending on walking past Yasuo but catching something out of the glimpse of his eye.  **“Wait.. Let me see your hands.”**

Confused, Yasuo held out his hands, and Yi gently grasped them, inspecting them with a critical eye. 

**“You have an early stage of frostbite in your fingertips. You are lucky that it was caught so early on.”** He dropped them again.  **“First thing we need to do is get you clean and warmed up- the warm water should help with the onset of it.”**

There was no reason Yi, or anyone for that matter, should be helping him. He should still be stumbling along in the freezing cold, dying of frostbite and hoping that he stayed more permanently dead. But here he was, in new clothing and clean, on solely the charity of a patrolling swordsman. 

**“Thank you,”** Yasuo blurted out, fixated on Yi, who was standing on the other side of the room.  **“You had no reason to do any of this. I should be dead.”**

**“And what good would that do anyone? I’ve gotten help in low places before, I am simply passing on the favor. I helped you here, now you help someone else.”** Yi smiled comfortingly over at him.  **“You should be fine by tomorrow morning if you stay warm overnight. I’ll show you the ropes then.”**

Yasuo gave a silent nod, mind swimming with disbelief, gratitude, and exhaustion. He wasn’t done mentally processing his death, the fact he was alive again, and the fact that such a kind, attractive swordsman had immediately seen fit to save his life soon after. 

**“You should get some rest.”** The generous swordsman began, tilting his head. “ **Although, I only have one bed… if it really bothers you, I can see about constructing something makeshift.”**

Yasuo raised his eyebrows over at Yi. 

**“Don’t give me that look,”** Yi said, misinterpreting the gaze.  **“It’ll only be for a night or two- we’ll make you something better to sleep in soon.”**

**“No, no,”** Yasuo clarified,  **“It doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you.”**

Yi nodded.  **“Right. If you don’t mind, though, I ask that you store your weapons across the room. I hope you can understand why.”**

**“I have no problem with that- although I have little intention of stabbing you in the night.”**

Yi laughed softly.  **“Just a safety precaution. I haven’t exactly met many Noxians who can speak fluent Ionian.”**

“Fluent Ionian?” Yasuo jumped back to the common tongue as he stored his weapons far from reach of the bed. “I’m sorry, I have no idea what you’re saying, Mr. Swordman.” 

“Ah, it’s good to see a fellow Noxian dog on an infiltration mission,” Yi began, miserably failing at replicating the brutish Noxian accent. “Noxus will rise!” 

They laughed together, Yasuo yet again finding himself pushing down a few sparks of warmth that rose in his chest as he got into his side of the bed. He faced the fireplace, back to Yi, and tried to focus on sleeping rather than the attractive man who had just saved his life. 

Eventually, Yasuo drifted off to sleep, half expecting to wake up in the oily darkness that had been his existence for an indeterminate amount of time. But instead, he woke up uncomfortably close to the other swordsman at an unreasonably early hour. Thankfully, neither of them had said anything about it. 

**“I hope you’re ready to work,”** Yi said, handing him a thick fur covering.  **“We’ll eat later in the day, I intended on showing you the ropes early this morning.”**

Yasuo nodded tiredly, trying to look bright and attentive. One thing that he had  _ not  _ missed about life was waking up in the mornings.

**“Follow me. You can leave your katana behind for today, you won’t need it.”**

Yasuo was uncomfortable with the idea of leaving behind something he relied on so heavily, even in death, but he wasn’t about to go against the man who had shown nothing but kindness to him. 

Yi led him out of the house, and towards the direction of the surrounding woods. On the way there, he stopped multiple times, giving greetings to others going about their mornings and brightly introducing a slightly weary Yasuo. There were too many names and too many faces to remember on too early of a morning, but he tried his best. Yi was energetic in the crisp morning air, clearly a man who did their best work when they first woke up: the exact opposite of Yasuo. 

At the age of the woods, there was a well-concealed shed that Yasuo hadn’t noticed while they were walking up towards it. Yi disappeared inside, and a moment later, came out holding two axes. 

Yasuo gave him a confused look as he handed one to him. It was too heavy for his taste, and it lacked the elegance of a katana. It felt awkward in his hands, especially when compared to the axe that Yi currently held. His looked worn over years of use, perfectly fit for his hands and just the right weight. It was both a tool and a weapon for him, and likely neither for Yasuo. 

**“Chopping wood!”** Yi began brightly.  **“If you want warmth, food, or shelter, you’ll need to do it eventually. And look at you! You’re muscular, I bet you’ll be good at it.”**

Yasuo raised his eyebrows at him.  **“We’ll see about that, though I note your observation.”**

Yi rolled his eyes, turning away.  **“Here, follow me. I know a good spot.”**

Yasuo also noted how unbothered Yi was at the taunt- seriously, how hard was it to make this guy flustered? He was fucking immune to seemingly everything. 

Yi led him to a small clearing- one that was in shouting distance of the village itself. Yi was trusting, but no idiot- there was no doubt that if Yasuo tried to attack him he would be able to overpower him, and the commotion would easily grab the attention of the full village. It was respectable. 

**“Now,”** the man in question began, entirely blind to the observations pouring through Yasuo’s head.  **“We have a few trees already cut down, but we need to chop them down to usable pieces.”**

Yi went through the process of explaining how to properly cut up the trees, critiquing him on his form as they went along. At first, he handled the axe too much like a katana, but then switched to relying too heavily on brute force. The key, Yi explained as he effortlessly went through his share of wood, chopping it into aesthetically pleasing sections, was to use just enough force to have control over the tool, letting it do the majority of the work under your guidance. 

Hours passed, and as the morning shifted into late afternoon, Yasuo grew exhausted. Cutting up the wood and then transporting it to an accessible location was difficult, and he could feel the soreness that would surely linger for the next few days already creeping through his entire body. Nonetheless, he was proud of his work- his cut sections were much more even than they were in the morning, and took half the time. 

**“I was right about you,”** Yi said as they walked back with a taunting smile,  **“maybe you are worth the extra meat.”**

**“High praise from someone like you,”** Yasuo shot back, but there was no heat behind his words- only exhaustion with a sense of contentment. 

As days passed, Yi introduced him to a number of people and even more tasks. They found that he was pretty good at physical labor and anything to do with his katana, but hopeless at shooting both a bow and a rifle. The people in the village were friendly, though skeptical, however, Yasuo didn’t mind- most of the time, he was working alongside Yi, and those were the best days. 

At first, Yasuo stressed heavily over the recent events. Had he truly died? Was he a ghost, a reanimated being? Had he been trapped in a spell, or perhaps drugged? How much of this was real, and how did  _ Ionians  _ not recognize one of their most wanted criminals? Why did everyone speak in such a strange dialect, and why did the hate for Noxians run so rampant within this hidden forest village? 

But, days grew into weeks, and he found that hard work and spending time with Yi were the best distractors, and he felt happier with a clear head. Yi and Yasuo grew close quickly, and soon the talk of getting a second bed for Yasuo fell forgotten into an unspoken deal. It had been many years since Yasuo lived happily in Ionia, speaking his mother tongue and responding to his true name. Even if his life and the current situation was confusing and unsolved, he was happier than he had been for as long as he could remember. 

Many weeks later, on a clear afternoon, the two swordsmen found themselves laughing and taunting each other during their many sparring sessions. They were both fantastic with the blade and naturally competitive, so they complemented one another well. Each match ended in a near-draw each time, a single misstep being the only thing that would lead to defeat against the other. 

They were only a few minutes into their session when Vasa, a young teenaged boy who had been sent out early that morning on one of his first patrolling sessions, paralleled into the clearing. Yi’s smile died as he read the panicked expression on the boy’s face.  **“Vasa, what’s wrong? Where is the rest of your group?”**

The boy’s eyes were filled with tears.  **“Master Yi, there’s Noxians. They killed the rest of them and sent me as a warning. They’re coming!”**

Yasuo had never such a pale expression of hopelessness and fear cross Yi’s face as he did that day. Time froze to a halt as Yi struggled for words.  **“Go, Vasa. Alert the village. I will be right behind you.”**

He nodded tearfully and turned, darting out of the clearing. They both watched as he disappeared, and then Yi turned to him gravely, putting an arm on Yasuo’s shoulder and pulling him into a hug.  **“Yasuo,”** Yi murmured in Ionian.  **“They’re Noxians. We’re not going to make it. I haven’t known you for very long, but I have appreciated your company more than you could ever know. Perhaps we’ll meet again in the afterlife.”**

Yasuo froze in his grasp, unable to process what was going on. Sure, Noxians were bad, but there had always been a rebellious spirit echoed throughout Ionia- surely someone like Yi would have the same innate response.  **“Yi, this doesn’t have to be it- we can fight back, many have.”**

Yi pulled away and stared at Yasuo with a heavy gaze.  **“I appreciate the optimism, but the last time an Ionian village won against a Noxian invasion was when Irelia was still around- over 70 years ago. We’re one of the true Ionian communities left to grace the planet, we have no chance.”**

Yasuo stared at him with a look of sheer horror. He had died as Irelia was rising to power, and clearly, she had been a symbol of hope throughout all of Ionia. If she had died over 70 years ago, that meant Yasuo had spent decades dead in the oily darkness. And if the Noxian invasion was still so prevalent, it meant they had lost.

They shared a look, one last time, before Yi dragged him off in the direction of the village. As he followed in silence, so many things- like why Yi immediately trusted him when he proved fluent in the rare Ionian tongue, and why the hate for Noxus seemed insanely strong, and why the dialect in their voices was so strange- clicked into place. Yasuo’s natural lifespan should’ve ended decades ago. 

When they arrived, people were pouring out valuables into the center of the city. Apparently, the Master had decided that the best course of action was to attempt to bribe the Noxians in hopes that they’d accept and leave them alone, but deep down, no one truly believed it. 

**“They’ll** **_never_ ** **listen!”** A hotheaded teenager yelled back at the Master, tears gathering in the corner of her eyes.  **“We have to arm everyone and fight!”**

**“If you want to fight the most brutal, organized army on the planet, be my guest. This is our only chance- if they see us with weapons, they will respond aggressively.”** The Master replied, struggling to stay calm. 

**“Even if we die, I’m taking 10 Noxian dogs with me!”** A voice sounded from the crowd of people around the center of town, a murmur of agreement spreading moments later. 

The Master sighed once more, his eyes catching Yi’s.  **“Master Yi, what do you think we should do?”**

Yi stood still, looking over at the crowd of people anxious for a true leader silently.  **“I do not think we should die like slaughtered pigs. However, I agree with attempting to work things out peacefully at first. We shall present them with the tribute, and if they deny it, we shall reveal our hidden weapons and fight with true Ionian strength.”**

Sounds of agreement spread through the crowd, and anxious Ionians went to slip daggers up sleeves, to put bulky furs over hidden weapons, and to read over spellbooks one final time. Yi and Yasuo did not move, keeping their swords sheathed at their sides and saying nothing. 

As their secretly armed people filtered back into the center of town, Yi tensed as the brutish, cocky crashing of Noxian troops sounded to the north of the village. Yasuo gave Yi one fleeting, reassuring touch, and then the Noxian troops broke the treeline, heavily armed and probably half drunk. 

Yi stepped forwards, putting himself at the center of attention. His hands were closed into fists to keep them from trembling, but his voice betrayed nothing as he greeted the captain of the army plainly and confidently. “Noxians!” He called in the common tongue. “We welcome you to our humble village.” 

More and more Noxians began to pour through the trees, marching up to surround the people and form a heavily armed wall. The captain leaned heavily on a massive battleaxe, smirking. “If ye welcomin’ us, why are ye tryin’ so hard tah hide from us?” His voice wrung over the clearing, far too loud and far too full of himself.

That was the typical Noxian accent and attitude Yi and Yasuo had spent so much time making fun of, but there was no laughter now. Yi chose to ignore the question. “We have no conflict with you, Noxians. We have collected a tribute we will bring you- in return, of course, for our safety.” 

The captain stalked over to the pile with an exaggerated swagger, kicking a few priceless pieces and the collection of gold with his foot. “Not ah bad pile, if ah say so. But,” he said, turning back to Yi with a bloodthirsty glint in his eye. “I think me an’ my soldiers would much prefer just killin’ some Ionian scum and takin’ the tribute anyway. Wouldn’t ya agree, boys?” 

Yasuo’s blood ran cold as laughter and jeers rose up from the surrounding troops. This was funny to them, nothing more than a game. He shuddered, his hand instinctively creeping over to the handle of his katana. 

Yi took another step forward, a note of panic creeping into his voice. “Again, we have no conflict with you, Noxians-”

“Shut the fuck up, Ionian. Down with the rebellion! Down with Ionain scum! For Noxus!” 

The cry of “For Noxus!” was echoed throughout the troops, and then all hell broke loose as they descended on the Ionians. Some were struck down before they could even draw their hidden weapons, many of the blows being overkill for their matches. 

Yasuo and Yi drew their swords together as the captain and two footsoldiers rounded on them, breaking away from the heat of the main conflict. “I dunno what you fuckin’ Ionians call it, but here we call it captains. Let’s duel, captain versus captain, aye?” 

Yasuo and Yi knew that they were no match for three heavily armored bloodthirsty Noxians, but they turned towards them anyway. The captain split off to face Yi alone, and Yasuo was stuck staring down the two footsoldiers. One had a massive battleaxe that mirrored the captain’s, and the other had a vicious looking sword. 

“Why do you Noxians always carry such unnecessarily large weapons? You trying to compensate?” 

The two soldiers snarled, talking over one another:

“What are you playing at?”

“Shut up an’ die, scum.” 

Yasuo learned very quickly that there was no such thing as parrying a battleaxe. He instinctively tried to do a block that swept upwards with katana, but the sheer force behind the massive steel pressed down deep into his shoulder anyway, forcing him to bite his tongue to repress a groan of pain. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Yi was making little progress with his own opponent. He was losing ground fast, and the enemy captain was still laughing and taunting him. 

The footsoldiers he was battling weren’t finished with him yet- the advanced on him, and he was forced to tear his attention away from Yi. He was light and agile on his feet, doing everything he could to stab his katana down deep chinks in the armor, spinning away from cleaving strikes of oversized weapon, trying not to slow as his energy evaporated. 

Suddenly, a cry of guttural pain tore his attention towards Yi mid-fight. To his horror, he saw blood soak through Yi’s clothing, right where the Noxian had sunk the massive battleaxe into the center of his chest. Yi seemed to collapse in slow motion when the triumphant captain ripped the axe back away from his torso. 

Yasuo’s mind went entirely blank with shock, unable to move. It came as no surprise when the Noxian with the sword slashed across the side of his body, tearing a deep gash in his neck and down his side. A moment later, the axe connected, and he allowed himself to let the katana, which felt so heavy in his grasp, slip from his hand as he fell, reaching out towards Yi. 

The pain was excruciating but felt so distant as he dragged himself over to Yi, reaching out to connect their hands. It was still warm, he noted, although his gaze was distant- so far away from Yasuo and his people dying around him. Darkness danced in the corners of his eye, but he refused to give in- if he was to be transported back to the realm of oily darkness, then the last thing he’d ever see would be Yi, the man that he had quickly grown to love and depend on. 

On his third life, Yasuo died reaching out to Yi on the battlefield, darkness rushing up from the corners of his vision and swallowing him whole as the final blow struck him. 

*****

Many miles away from the frozen Ionian bloodbath, whispers of yet another Noxian triumph over one of the last true villages spread into the bustling city of trade, crime, and drugs that a masked artist found himself currently residing in. He had relocated here, further and further away from his true home of Ionia as the bloodshed got worse.

At least, that was the reason he told himself. Jhin had spent most of his early life forming friendships, receiving compliments that turned into unanswerable questions as the years went on. He watched his friends die: of age or otherwise, over and over again. Soon, he found it easier to simply stop making friends. 

Later in life, Jhin found that even allies would begin asking the same unanswerable questions. Soon they became hindrances, people who recognized him and eventually became the cause of his aptitude for moving away every few years or even faking his death. 

But that grew tiring over time as well. The most effective solution was to wear a mask- a mask that would cover the fact that his hair never grayed, the golden fire of his eyes never dulled. He was bitterly, and hopelessly, immortal. He would not age, and he would not die- he had many chances to prove that to himself as the years soured. 

But oh, how he could feel pain. At first, it stabbed through his heart like an icy Kinkou dagger. He first learned of this curse when his friends noticed how he stayed young and strong as they aged. At first, they had chalked it up to luck or genetics- but soon, he was accused of forbidden magic and unsuccessfully put to death. Fearing a life of imprisonment, he used years of fine-tuned acting skills to play along and spent many years afterward hiding from faces that had once inspired so much joy. 

Hiding from friends, and later in life, allies, made his heart cold and shielded. It only grew easier to distance himself when the last of his generation died and no one could relate to him or the world he had grown up in any longer. The only linking thread between him and any Ionian was a thread of deep-seated hatred for Noxians, one that only burned brighter after decades of witnessing their cruelty. 

He would often find himself bitterly whispering that he was right about the Noxians, as he had been a teenager when the invasion had begun. No one took it too seriously, fearing war or begging for compromise. And now, nearly a century later, his call for violence and rebellion proved to be what would have been the best course of action- but there was no one to listen to him; all the true Ionians were dead. 

One thing he had learned throughout decades of isolation and bitterness was an appreciation of death. He had always had an artistic mindset- his natural aptitude had shown throughout his childhood, and he was a fantastic actor. However, there was no beauty like there was in death. It was the one thing, over the course of millennia, that would be truly unreachable for him, and it encapsulated him. 

Death was the one thing guaranteed to every living being except for him. It should be appreciated and revered as such, an inescapable finality that only showed once in a person’s life. His fascination knew no bounds, especially as he grew further and further into isolation. Every part of it was beautiful- from the blood that sprung through a lethal wound, to the dying screams of the damned, to the glimpses of two ethereal hunters that would show up out of the corner of his eye on a particularly lucky kill. 

Jhin had enough time to attain anything in the world, except for death, so he became its main audience. At first, he killed exclusively Noxians: he told himself that it was revenge, that they had killed so many of his people it was only fair. He killed quickly and cleanly, savoring their dying gasps and the blood that would stain his clothing. Over time, however, he realized that death should never be quick- it should be savored, appreciated, revered. 

He moved on to killing any that inspired beauty- over years of work, he had come to see death as what it truly was, and he was an artist that drew the best out of his creations. Jhin no longer defiled his work with Noxian blood, but the blood of any he saw fit. He found new, more elegant ways to express his feelings, his vision, through artwork and built masterpieces highlighting the  _ perfection  _ of the end. __

He had decades to perfect and improve his work which few would ever understand. If he stayed in one place for too long, he would be dubbed a serial killer, then an organization, then an urban legend. When he still lived in Ionia, or at least the remnants of it, he was dubbed the “Golden Demon,” as his rate of exposing the artistry in death would not slow, would not  _ die-  _ surely, the work of a brutal immortal demon, cursed to walk the earth and expose its rage. Perhaps that is what he was. 

Or perhaps that’s what he was meant to become. Jhin didn’t care about anyone, or anything, other than his work. Why love when you would only witness those you care about age and die before you if they didn’t drive you out on their own blind fear instead? He feared nothing, he could not die and if he could, he would long for the beauty in it to be reflected upon his image. He felt nothing, even bitterness fell away, the only that ever crossed his mind was the exhilaration of gifting another being an opportunity to make their life meaningful. 

And with that, the Golden Demon’s eyes narrowed in on the loud, green-eyed Noxian sitting a few tables over from him- the one that had gloated about the fall of yet another Ionian village to him just a few minutes earlier. The desire to feel something,  _ anything,  _ rose up within him, perhaps laced with a thread of innate hatred towards the brutish soldiers, and he began to size up his next masterpiece for the night.

**Author's Note:**

> A new fic! This was supposed to be just a quick Christmas gift one-shot, but I got a bit too drawn into the story! This one won't be as long as Countdown, but it'll definitely hold some interesting aspects. 
> 
> Thank you to all my readers, I wanted to give back to you guys for supporting me thus far, and I hope this shows a fraction of my appreciation <3
> 
> As always, comments = motivation.  
> You can follow my Twitter @CrowsQuillAO3 for updates, WIPs, and to stay in touch with me. (and lots of league memes).


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